


Where I Cannot Follow

by convenience



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/M, Foreshadowing, aberama is a good husband, polly's sixth sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 14:23:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20761811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convenience/pseuds/convenience
Summary: Polly Grey did not cry - she did not weep, she did not sob. She was a woman of divine power and substance, one who could do anything she set her mind to. She did not have time for crying, or sadness, or pain. It somehow felt okay to cry into his arms, the stubble of his jaw brushing the back of her neck.





	Where I Cannot Follow

“My love, you know why I have to do this.” Aberama told her softly, one hand gently cupping her jaw. They were bathed in the soft light of Polly’s living room, a bottle of wine on the coffee table, a glass in her hand. “I won’t be able to rest until my boy is avenged.”

Polly took a deep breath, resting her head on Aberama’s shoulder “I know. It’s going to go badly, you’re no idiot. My soul’s just found itself with yours, don’t go where I cannot follow.” Her soul had not settled since she lost Anna and Michael - even when Michael came back it was still restless, something pulsing and nervous in her chest.

No-one would know, though, of course. Not Tommy, not Ada, not Michael. No-one but Aberama, who too had a restless soul. His was easier to seek out, easier to sense through his eyes. God, his eyes.

Something about Aberama had rekindled what Polly had called a broken and dead part of her - destroyed and abandoned to make way for a new Polly who wouldn’t get stung by an alcoholic bastard who would get her up the duff twice and spend his time in the pub. A new Polly who was now a mother to all of the Shelby children, who ran her own shit and survived.

More recently, she spent nights on the sofa with Aberama, talking and talking, sometimes fucking in her poster bed after. 

“You will be fine, my love.” Aberama assured her, kissing her forehead “You have lived many times before, and each time you have gotten better. If I leave early, I will only find you again in the next life.”

“What a terrible existence that will be.” Polly decided, a soft noise escaping her lips. She was never like this - never this emotional, this tear-prone. Something about Aberama, about the way they touched, about the way he looked at her as if she was something wicked, something beautiful.

Aberama nodded softly, shifting to take her into his lap properly. “We aren’t young anymore, Polly Gold, it is not our world to take. The world has been taken from the person I gave it to, and I need to be there for him. His body wasn’t disposed of properly, he will get lost.”

“I could guide him along.” She offered softly, having done it many times before. “It’s painful, but I would do it for you. I’d do it for Bonnie. He was as good as my own for a short time.”

Aberama wiped a single tear from his eye, touched by her offer. “If you find him, my love, and he is wandering, I will trust you to do so... He still needs to be avenged, my love. My soul will not rest on this plane without Jimmy McCavern dead, even with the world’s greatest treasure by my side. Just as you have not been able to rest without your daughter, or without the son you thought you had.”

There was no use being offended - he had hit the nail on the head. He always did. Polly gave a small, defeated sigh and placed her wine glass on the coffee table, using the movement to quickly wipe away tears.

“You are worth staying for, Polly Gold, and I will do my best.” Aberama told her honestly, pressing his lips to hers. “My time has been decided, but I will hope to everything that I have that my time will not end before we are married. I’d like for you to properly meet my daughters before then.”

Polly nodded, kissing him until the image that seemed to be burrowing itself in her mind’s eye became nothing but a slight thought, a live Aberama at the forefront. Not the vision of Aberama that had woken her, a vision of him somewhere in the wings of a stage, blood pouring from his lifeless body. In her dream she was able to step closer and sit by him, see the blood in his beard.

When the sun rose, the couple were in Polly’s four poster bed, the sun streaming through a gap in the curtain. Aberama was asleep, nothing bothering him at all, but Polly was upright and covered in a skin of cold sweat.

If he went, he would die.  
If he went, he would die.  
If he went, he would die.  
If he went, he would die and Polly would hand in her resignation to the Shelby Company.

Aberama rolled closer to her in his sleep, wrapping an arm around her - he woke when he was greeted by the silk of her nightgown and not the soft texture of her skin. “Love,” He muttered, pressing a kiss to her hip. “Good morning.”

“If you go, you’ll die.” Her words were cold and ancient, coming from her lips but not at all her own voice. “Don’t go where I can’t follow, Aberama.” The second sentence was hers entirely, Polly breaking through, but then she went vacant. “You lost me some time ago, you have loved again - do not leave her, she is good.”

Any drowsiness Aberama had had instantly lost itself somewhere as he shot right up, sitting still as he listened to her words. He recognised her words in an instant, her voice only something he had heard in dreams and distant memories. Of course Theodosia wouldn’t see it his way, his gorgeous first love, a hot tempered but well mannered woman. She was all heart, a true queen of her own right.

He wrapped his arms around Polly, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “Come back to me, love. Come back to me.” Channelling the dead was never a fun thing to happen to anyone, much less an emotionally distraught woman with the world as she knew it on her shoulders.

Then Polly was crying, shaking in his arms. His arms got tighter around her, pulling her in for an embrace. “You’re alright, love, we’re alright.” 

Polly Grey did not cry - she did not weep, she did not sob. She was a woman of divine power and substance, one who could do anything she set her mind to. She did not have time for crying, or sadness, or pain. It somehow felt okay to cry into his arms, the stubble of his jaw brushing the back of her neck. 

“Tommy’s sending you to your death.” Polly told him honestly over breakfast - he could cook nearly as well as her and so it had become more of a team activity of youthful tea towel fights and fried eggs. 

“No, my love. Tommy is offering me vengeance. If I happen to die, then it has been a life I will do my best to remember. I will go with no regrets, no wish other than to see you again.” Aberama told her honestly, his knife and fork still in his hands. “If I get back, we will marry, and you will never have to cry again.”

Polly knew her wedding would never come, that she was destined to become an old relic of a time long ago where she was an image of radiance and beauty. No man who could love as honestly as he did would ever be able to stay long for there were always men with broken hearts and steel innards ready to take them and their sons where she could not follow.


End file.
